Friday, July 27, 2018

Oil Companies Reap Billions From Subsidies - The New York Times

Oil Companies Reap Billions From Subsidies - The New York Times

As Oil Industry Fights a Tax, It Reaps Subsidies

On Friday, cleanup workers in Grand Isle, La., positioned absorbent material to block oil from washing onto the beach. Joe Raedle/Getty Images

When the Deepwater Horizon drilling platform set off the worst oil spill at sea in American history, it was flying the flag of the Marshall Islands. Registering there allowed the rig's owner to significantly reduce its American taxes.

The owner, Transocean, moved its corporate headquarters from Houston to the Cayman Islands in 1999 and then to Switzerland in 2008, maneuvers that also helped it avoid taxes.

At the same time, BP was reaping sizable tax benefits from leasing the rig. According to a letter sent in June to the Senate Finance Committee, the company used a tax break for the oil industry to write off 70 percent of the rent for Deepwater Horizon — a deduction of more than $225,000 a day since the lease began.

With federal officials now considering a new tax on petroleum production to pay for the cleanup, the industry is fighting the measure, warning that it will lead to job losses and higher gasoline prices, as well as an increased dependence on foreign oil.

But an examination of the American tax code indicates that oil production is among the most heavily subsidized businesses, with tax breaks available at virtually every stage of the exploration and extraction process.

According to the most recent study by the Congressional Budget Office, released in 2005, capital investments like oil field leases and drilling equipment are taxed at an effective rate of 9 percent, significantly lower than the overall rate of 25 percent for businesses in general and lower than virtually any other industry.

And for many small and midsize oil companies, the tax on capital investments is so low that it is more than eliminated by var-ious credits. These companies' returns on those investments are often higher after taxes than before.

"The flow of revenues to oil companies is like the gusher at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico: heavy and constant," said Senator Robert Menendez, Democrat of New Jersey, who has worked alongside the Obama administration on a bill that would cut $20 billion in oil industry tax breaks over the next decade. "There is no reason for these corporations to shortchange the American taxpayer."

Oil industry officials say that the tax breaks, which average about $4 billion a year according to various government reports, are a bargain for taxpayers. By helping producers weather market fluctuations and invest in technology, tax incentives are supporting an industry that the officials say provides 9.2 million jobs.

The American Petroleum Institute, an industry advocacy group, argues that even with subsidies, oil producers paid or incurred $280 billion in American income taxes from 2006 to 2008, and pay a higher percentage of their earnings in taxes than most other American corporations.

As oil continues to spread across the Gulf of Mexico, however, the industry is being forced to defend tax breaks that some say are being abused or are outdated.

The Senate Finance Committee on Wednesday announced that it was investigating whether Transocean had exploited tax laws by moving overseas to avoid paying taxes in the United States. Efforts to curtail the tax breaks are likely to face fierce opposition in Congress; the oil and natural gas industry has spent $340 million on lobbyists since 2008, according to the nonpartisan Center for Responsive Politics, which monitors political spending.

Jack N. Gerard, president of the American Petroleum Institute, warns that any cut in subsidies will cost jobs.

"These companies evaluate costs, risks and opportunities across the globe," he said. "So if the U.S. makes changes in the tax code that discourage drilling in gulf waters, they will go elsewhere and take their jobs with them."

But some government watchdog groups say that only the industry's political muscle is preserving the tax breaks. An economist for the Treasury Department said in 2009 that a study had found that oil prices and potential profits were so high that eliminating the subsidies would decrease American output by less than half of one percent.

"We're giving tax breaks to highly profitable companies to do what they would be doing anyway," said Sima J. Gandhi, a policy analyst at the Center for American Progress, a liberal research organization. "That's not an incentive; that's a giveaway."

Some of the tax breaks date back nearly a century, when they were intended to encourage exploration in an era of rudimentary technology, when costly investments frequently produced only dry holes. Because of one lingering provision from the Tariff Act of 1913, many small and midsize oil companies based in the United States can claim deductions for the lost value of tapped oil fields far beyond the amount the companies actually paid for the oil rights.

Other tax breaks were born of international politics. In an attempt to deter Soviet influence in the Middle East in the 1950s, the State Department backed a Saudi Arabian accounting maneuver that reclassified the royalties charged by foreign governments to American oil drillers. Saudi Arabia and others began to treat some of the royalties as taxes, which entitled the companies to subtract those payments from their American tax bills. Despite repeated attempts to forbid this accounting practice, companies continue to deduct the payments. The Treasury Department estimates that it will cost $8.2 billion over the next decade.

Over the last 10 years, oil companies have also been aggressive in using foreign tax havens. Many rigs, like Deepwater Horizon, are registered in Panama or in the Marshall Islands, where they are subject to lower taxes and less stringent safety and staff regulations. American producers have also aggressively exploited the tax code by opening small offices in low-tax countries. A recent study by Martin A. Sullivan, an economist for the trade publication Tax Analysts, found that the five oil drilling companies that had undergone these "corporate inversions" had saved themselves a total of $4 billion in taxes since 1999.

Transocean — which has approximately 18,000 employees worldwide, including 1,300 in Houston and about a dozen in Zug, Switzerland — has saved $1.8 billion in taxes since moving overseas in 1999, the study found.

Transocean said it had paid more than $300 million in taxes so far for 2009, and that its move reflected its global scope, with only 15 of its 139 rigs located in the United States. "Transocean is truly a global company," it said in a statement.

Despite the public anger at the gulf spill, it is far from certain that Congress will eliminate the tax breaks. As recently as 2005, when windfall profits for energy companies prompted even President George W. Bush — a former Texas oilman himself — to publicly call for an end to incentives, the energy bill he and Congress enacted still included $2.6 billion in oil subsidies. In 2007, after Democrats took control of Congress, a move to end the tax breaks failed.

Mr. Menendez said he believed the Gulf spill was devastating enough to spur Congress into action. But one notable omission in his bill shows the vast economic reach of the industry. While the legislation would cut many incentives over the next decade, it would not touch the tax breaks for oil refineries, many of which have operations and employees in his home state, New Jersey.

Mr. Menendez's aides said the senator thought it was legitimate to allow refineries to continue claiming a manufacturing tax credit that he wants to eliminate for drillers because refining is a manufacturing business and because refineries do not benefit from high oil prices. Mr. Menendez did not consult with New Jersey refineries when writing the bill, his aides said.

Saturday, July 14, 2018

There is magic in those Jekyll Island oaks - The Boston Globe

There is magic in those Jekyll Island oaks - The Boston Globe

There is magic in those Jekyll Island oaks

The author's daughters take in sunset by the marsh.

Jenna Russell/Globe Staff

The author's daughters take in sunset by the marsh.

JEKYLL ISLAND, GA.

It was after we bicycled out of the marsh, and rolled into the dappled shade beneath the live oak trees, that a kind of magic took hold of my daughters.

They had pedaled along fairly happily until then, complaining once or twice about the 80-degree heat (a sentiment I swiftly rejected as unacceptable). But now, coasting through an enchanted landscape, under overspreading branches draped with Spanish moss, their reverie turned otherworldly. They began singing, a song I didn't know, and greeting every tree they passed with a cheery hello, like a pair of wood sprites cycling through a fairy tale.

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Birds sang, sunlight filtered through the trees, and for a while we roamed in perfect, shared contentment. It was probably just the shade that made them happy, but I couldn't help but wonder: Had the oaks, these forest wizards, cast a spell over my children?

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It had been more than 20 years since I first found Jekyll Island, and was first transfixed by those massive, mysterious trees. Returning there in April, now with two children in tow, I wondered if it would be as I remembered it — idyllic and unscathed, with a touch of wildness.

Our destination was slightly offbeat, adding to its appeal. Georgia borders Florida and boasts a similar climate, but it remains distinct, with richer and more concentrated Southern flavors. Its relative obscurity — at least among New England families planning their April vacations — means few crowds and lower prices. Direct flights to Atlanta, purchased three months in advance, were $200 apiece, and basic hotel rooms on the island can be had for less than $200 per night. We planned a stop in Savannah, another intoxicating Southern beauty I had loved long ago but hadn't seen in years.

The rolling red clay hills along the highway brought back memories of another time: my first job as a daily newspaper reporter, in the 1990s, in a tiny bureau in north Georgia. The sheriff called me "little lady"; the go-to snack was boiled peanuts. I was born and raised near Boston, so my knowledge of the South was based entirely on fiction: Faulkner, Capote, Warren, Lee, McCarthy, O'Connor. I set out to explore, traveling with my new reporter friends on weekends. There were languorous afternoons in the angsty, atmospheric bars of Athens, and an impromptu campout near Savannah, the night before its famous St. Patrick's Day parade.

Revisiting Savannah two decades later, I found it even lovelier than I remembered. We arrived just in time for lunch, and sat outside at Blowin' Smoke Southern Cantina, on the outskirts of downtown, where the canopy of actual green leaves, after six months of bare branches, was as shockingly delicious as the ribs and brisket tacos. Afterward, we wandered euphorically from square to square in the exquisite city center, collecting bits of history like shiny coins. Down by the river, across from a Wonka-esque candy store where we stocked up on chocolate pralines, a street vendor named Chris deftly wove us perfect roses out of palm fronds.

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Then it was on to Jekyll Island, an hour south, with its wind-twisted trees and wide open beaches. Protected as a state park in the 1940s, and wholly owned by the state of Georgia, the buildable land on the barrier island is limited by law to roughly 35 percent, according to the Jekyll Island Authority. Ten miles long and a half mile wide, it has eight hotels and about 1,000 full-time residents — far more than federally-protected Cumberland Island, to its south, but fewer than the other so-called "Golden Isles" along the Georgia coast.

The last, eastward leg of our drive to the island, across a great marsh, made for a spectacular introduction. The grasses glowed green and yellow, even pinkish, a vast coastal prairie ablaze in the afternoon sun. The open landscape, gentle air, and lack of traffic all inspired deeper breathing; we felt our long-hunched shoulders slowly drop. We wondered, though, about the elegant new bridge looming in the distance: did its presence foretell other changes? Arriving on the island, after paying $28 for a seven-day pass, we found a new rotary channeling sparse traffic, and a small, upscale beachfront retail development. But as we drove north, the landscape opened up again.

Our hotel, a moderately priced, recently renovated Holiday Inn resort, sat low to the ground and back from the beach, yielding to the stunning natural landscape. One of Jekyll's democratic appeals is its ample stock of affordable hotel rooms — the Holiday Inn, Days Inn, and Hampton Inn are all on the beach and get good reviews online. We paid extra for a suite with a kitchenette, and stocked up on groceries at the Winn-Dixie in neighboring Brunswick. Our homemade breakfasts and lunches were mightily improved by the sublime peach butter we picked up at the Commissary, a shop in the island's historic district.

We found the scenery a more sumptuous feast than the so-so dining scene — though I can fully recommend the chips and guacamole at Tortuga Jacks, along with the lively pineapple habanero IPA from Jekyll Brewing Co. (actually made in Alpharetta, Ga.). I wasn't above trying the new Twix blizzard at the Dairy Queen, either; the island's only fast food restaurant, it opened (presumably amid controversy) beside a new gas station in 2011.

The true manmade genius of the place is the network of bike paths encircling the island, a 20-mile loop through a dazzling array of natural landscapes. Our hotel had no kids' bikes for rent, so we hit up friendly Beachside Bike Rentals, next to the Days Inn; four bikes for four hours cost $50. We weren't sure the girls, 7 and 9, would take to it; at home, in our hilly neighborhood, their appetite for biking is sporadic. Then the 7-year-old took an early spill, plunging the entire adventure into jeopardy; a quick first aid break at our hotel quelled the drama.

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The scenery grew wilder, and spurred them to keep pedaling. There were tall, delicate white birds — egrets? — in the Clam Creek marsh; a paddock full of horses at Three Oaks farm (available for sunset beach rides); and tiny, toylike private airplanes parked in the shade at the Jekyll Island Airport. We passed one of the largest live oaks in the United States (51 feet in circumference, marked with a plaque), and a sign warning golfers to watch out for alligators.

Every 10 minutes or so, I spotted another moss-draped oak that simply had to be the most gorgeous yet.

Every 10 minutes or so, I spotted another moss-draped oak that simply had to be the most gorgeous yet. Pausing to take photo after photo, I fell behind my family and reveled in the quiet, acutely conscious of the forest as a living presence.

We encountered a few other cyclists, but almost always felt we had the island to ourselves, whether lounging by the pool or counting sand dollars on a morning beach walk. The only place we saw a crowd was at the Georgia Sea Turtle Center, the local hospital for turtles, an unexpectedly engrossing stop for animal lovers and families with children. The day we visited, researchers were inserting a tracking device in a timber rattlesnake found by a tourist on the island — a procedure we were able to watch live through a glass viewing window.

To watch the sun set every evening, we crossed to the west shore, by the "sinuous, shimmering band" of marsh immortalized by Georgia-born poet Sidney Lanier in his "Hymns of the Marshes." One night, we took in the dusky finale at Clam Creek Fishing Pier, applauding Key West-style as the fireball sank behind the bridge named for Lanier. Another evening, we ventured to tiny, walled Dubignon Cemetery, a relic of the island's history as a family-owned plantation.

As my family hid in the car from a twilight invasion of tiny biting insects, I strolled alone in the silence by the marsh's edge, watching the sky turn dusky rose and violet. A friendly local couple, toasting the day's end at a picnic table, welcomed me warmly, declaring it the best sunset vantage on the island.

I expressed my fondness for their adopted home (like many residents, they retired there from somewhere else). They responded with a pointed question: What, exactly, did I like about it? I was startled; wasn't it obvious, especially here, with the bronzed oaks overhead and the marsh grass lit up pinkish-gold behind us?

"This," I said, spreading my arms wide. "All this." They nodded, satisfied and solemn. Earlier, they had attended a public meeting on island development, they said, and it had left them worried that things might change too much, driving away visitors like me.

"Please tell them that," they urged. "If anyone asks you, or sends you a survey."

No one's asked, but here's my vote: Stay as you are, Jekyll Island. There is magic in those oaks — the kind that can never be recovered, once it's gone.

Jenna Russell can be reached at jenna.russell@globe.com. Follow her on Twitter @jrussglobe.